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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252497">But You Left Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Attempted Murder, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Dancing, F/M, Flashbacks, Late Night Conversations, Sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:21:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Y/N sees hector for the first time since he disappeared when they were children.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hector (Castlevania)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>But You Left Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>What I was never told about was the softness of his voice. Not caused by shyness or insecurity or incapability, but by the gentleness of his soul. He didn’t want to speak louder than another person. He abhorred arguments and deceit. If he ruled the world, he would rule it with a kind tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But I was never told about this. I was told he was a general for a tyrant king, high in prestige and depleted in love. He conjured demons and made himself lord over them. He fought on the side of hell. Wanted genocide. Supported the cause to end humanity. That sort of man demands reverence. He deserves it. If I had to speak to him, I would choose between killing and praising him. And, to be the person I claim I am, I would choose the former. I had to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when I saw him bathing between the trees in a small creek, I blinked three times. I shook my head. I looked around. This was a trap for</span>
  <em>
    <span> me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>My knuckles went white around my bow and arrow. The sun hid above the fresh spring leaves. It was dark. Damp. And he had no idea I was there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That boy. He’s unnatural. Stay away from him,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>my aunt told me when I was little. We played together in the town center in our younger years. I’m one of the only people who have seen him smile, and it wasn’t even a gift back then. It was normal. A child’s smile, it’s--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My elbow lifted on its own. It gave itself a mission I didn’t want to accomplish. My eye winked shut and I aimed at him. His head. A clean shot. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“C’mon Y/N, let’s go home.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sits there, all alone, playing in the dirt. My friends beckon me to leave with them, but I can’t leave him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I wave them off and sit next to him. He doesn’t look at me. Keeps doodling with a stick in his hand. He seems to be drawing a dog. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who’s that?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He waits for the rest of the town square to clear. The sun rests just over the horizon. It’s pink outside. And warm. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My pet dog,” he responds, smiling to himself. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can you bring him tomorrow?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t. He has to stay home.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But dogs like to play.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He does. He can’t here.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s dead.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I pulled back the arrow, closed both of my eyes, then released it to the mercy of the wind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fire blazes around the house, taunting the grass that it might his next victim. The town watches in awe from their own unlit homes. It’s not long before the cloud cry onto the house and put out the flames. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I sneak from my back door and run a mile to him. He’s standing, staring. His puppy cuddles in-between his arms. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hector,” I say from the high grass. The flowers are beginning to bloom. But we can’t see them now. The smell is the only beauty of the night. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He turns and looks at me. His gray eyes meet mine. They’re wet with tears. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your dog is alive.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My parents aren’t.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A group of townspeople mob toward him. He runs into the fields across from me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When my eyes opened, I saw how the wind betrayed me. Hector stared wordlessly at his shoulder wound, so I yelled for him. “Dammit!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes shot up, gray and sad as ever. The water beneath him quickly shifted red. I ran to the creek and knelt in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y/N,” he stated, relieved. The stories I’d been told of his terrible deeds escaped my memory. This was my childhood friend. Someone I was fond of. Who I would recognize in an instant. Who I would have loved to been friends with throughout adolescence. Who I didn’t want to leave again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you in pain?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m choosing to ignore it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you leave?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come with me. I’ll bandage you up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked surprised. “You won’t shoot me again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t need another thing to regret.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I helped him out of the creek and draped my cloak over him. It barely reached his calves. He tightened it around him as I picked up his clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, I’m so sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God doesn’t care.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I escorted him back to my house. I was thankful for my loneliness for once. No one would check up on me, speak to me, ask a favor, or barge in unexpectedly. I became what Hector should have become: a hermit in plain sight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat at my kitchen table. I got bandages. He sat silently through this. Eyes down. Mouth clenched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re allowed to be in pain,” I said. He shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t get used to the luxury.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sighed. He clenched his fist. We both faltered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where do you live now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. But I didn’t want to believe it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why wasn’t Hector in the square today?” I ask my parents at dinner. They become stoic. My mom coughs into her handkerchief. Dad stiffens. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He ran away last night. There was a fire.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My mom intervenes, “It must have scared him.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But he started it.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t know that.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That kid is insane, Rowena! We all know it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not in front of Y/N, James. Not in front of Y/N.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After Hector drank a few glasses of wine, he acted human. I guess he needed a nudge of normal to loosen him up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does hurt,” he admitted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it would. You’re not much more than me” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stood up. He followed suit. Outside, in the too-near town square, music played. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would it be strange if I said I missed you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were the only sane person here, and then you left.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m a monster.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re a monster, I would much rather choose to live in hell.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By saving me, you already have.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took my hand in his and twirled me. Keeping his injured arm behind his back, he spun me endlessly with the other one until I fell into his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I could stay in this world of careless whispers and dances.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t think you’re about to leave it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I kissed his chest. He kissed my forehead. We kept dancing until we exhausted ourselves entirely. I fell asleep in his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when I woke up, he disappeared as if he never came home in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
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